August 2010
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We were young. 16. My parents were too conservative to ever leave me alone with him. So while I was suppose to be shelving books at the library, we sneaked away into our own little private world. Hopping over barbed wire, dodging between leaf crowned trees, we lay on the springy whispering grass, using our clothes to protect our vulnerable skin. In a sunny, stranger’s fields, we stripped...
July 2010
9 posts
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It had been 1 year, 6 months, and 27 days since we broke up. But most importantly, it had been 1 year, 4 months, and 13 days since we had last made love. Back then it wasn’t just making love-no, it was exploring and finding and giving love. As I walked up his front steps, I expected no more than two old friends catching up. I was a mess per usual, evidence of my 8 hour workday in my tired eyes and...
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“Just wanna see ya, just wanna feel ya.” Those are the words that made me go to a church parking lot in the middle of the night. At nineteen, I snuck out of my house for the first time to meet the most reoccurring ex-boyfriend in the world. He kissed me as soon as he drove up. We progressed rather slowly, though I tried to start quickly. He asked as I tried to unbutton his pants,...
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paradise lost....
Dear Lady,
It’s perhaps not fair for me to greet you in the morning with my heaviness of heart. But I’m going to do it anyways. Press delete. Close. Log off. Whatever.
Sometimes you need to speak.
It’s a beautiful morning here. It’s April, but there’s actually frost on the cars in the warming morning sunlight. The mayflies are out, which is a bit of a pain, but...
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“Probably in their marriage she had been too dreamy and inconsistent. For love to...”
– Lorrie Moore, Like Life, 1990. (via worksofgenius, youngmanhattanite) (via beenthinking)
June 2010
4 posts
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Breathing
Do you know those moments when you’re making love and you can’t quite breathe?
Do you know what I mean? I mean, of course, those times when you’re not sure whether to gasp for oxygen or press your lips to the lips of the one making love to you.
I mean those instants where reason has abandoned you and your body has taken over: your brain may scream for air, but the rest of your body is...
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gusts
i wasn’t crying because what we had was beautiful. i was crying because you just took from me something i’ll never have back. for fun.
(reader submission)
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Thoughts in the night
I would wear a blue dress with green peep toe shoes and you could see my red nail polish and you will say “you’re wearing too much colour,” but the tone of your voice woud indicate that it didn’t really matter.
You’d follow me through that alley, you know the one that runs beside my house? we’d walk past the pub and I would remark how it looked better when it was blue and when it smelt like...
February 2010
12 posts
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Silly Rabbit
You should have learned… fool with such things and get burned. Time and time again, we’re caught in this vicious cycle-engage, implode and forget. It’s reminiscent of an assembly line. Those movies, those books, those stories..how they fuck with us so. They whisper into our untainted souls sweet nothings that we hang on to as if for dear life. Life, what do you have in store for...
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: 54. →
Because I can only play four chords. Because my grandfather, mother’s side, was bald at forty. Because my arm twitches as I fall asleep. Because I drink too much when the football team loses. Because of what I said, on accident mostly, crossing the street. Because I don’t like green vegetables….
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“Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.”
– Zora Neale Hurston (via theremina)
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Who broke your heart?
uncutemma:
(via katiedrew)
Everyone, ever. My heart breaks constantly. It’s not always in the way that leaves you sobbing and shaking. Sometimes, my heart breaks in a way that it needs to be broken. My heart breaks every day. I let everyone break it. I give tiny pieces of myself to everyone who has ever asked for anything from me. I give tiny pieces to myself. I break my own heart.
“Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.”
– Zora Neale Hurston (via theremina)
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It was the first time I had seen you in over a year and, from the moment I got into the seat of your truck, I knew it would be the last.
The formalities that staggered across our lips were dripping with all of the water between us that never quite made it under the bridge, and I felt the channel narrowing as you tapped the steering wheel with those nimble fingers.
You drove to a parking lot and...
December 2009
3 posts
WatchNot Too Late. by carlo dj
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November 2009
7 posts
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dismantleme:
if i could spend every day in waist-high shorts and red lipstick, i would. i’d let my stockings slip down my legs and bunch at my knees, not take my eyeliner off, ever. you’d follow me underneath one of those big old trees, the ones too thick to hug by yourself, and we’d fall and roll, wrapping ourselves up in elbows and thumbs. i’d tell you i still hate whiskey. you’d stick...
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Sometimes
Sometimes you get an email from the transient genderqueer boi that you met in a small town library in New Mexico. The email is specifically about how the time you had in his tent hidden between the highway on-ramps was the most intimate and communicative sexual experience of his life. Then you remember that while this is exactly what you want to hear - that you are so in love - the object of your...
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Opportunity
nightmarebrunette:
I am not naturally any sort of business woman, but when I’m in an airport, every time, I practically quiver with the vision of the profits that could be generated. Restaurant after restaurant advertises vacant and rumpled men, alone and looking hollow, or sitting with coworkers at the bar and ordering 11am drinks. Travel at the right times, to and from the right places, and...
October 2009
35 posts
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”I’m going to have to fail you,” he said. ”Okay” ”It’s a brilliantly written essay, but it’s not what I asked you to do.” ”I know,” I must’ve appeared scared then, but I didn’t know yet that it was something he got off on, fear. He was short, but standing while I was sitting, making me look at him from below - bug-eyed,...
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we lose the people we love leading them blindly through expectation and assumption making them numb until somone finds them again introducing them tentatively stripping them slowly savoring their delighted discoveries and welcoming them breathlessly back into the world
(submitted by Tom Smith)
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When I Left You
i remember the way the vast expanse of terrible carpet overwhelmed our room the mirrored closet doors that caught my horror just in time to throw it back to me the wretched ceiling fan that loved us as much as it could muster on late nights in july but this this was september all that was left was the mattress i made everything else disappear the hangers in the closet seemed almost like...
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i said
“i plan my life around being with you;
when you’re not there, i simply don’t know what to do with myself”
she said
“you can always play with yourself”
(submitted by eversonpoe)
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She starts for a cigarette, the room all moving in chat and business, forgetting her empty wine glass. Glasses. She stops, retrieves, tops them up; the bottle splashing off the rim and wetting a rug she probably doesn’t recognise. She pauses in pouring, before more for good measure and then more again because she really wants to drink. As she leaves the room and the party and a few...
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I hope that you are a disaster. I’m sorry, but I do. I hope that you are thunder and lightning. I hope you are a forest fire, I hope you kill the dead wood and burn off the rotting leaves. With the canopy gone, the sun can get in. You need new growth. I hope you’re terrible and broken and perfect.
— joey comeau
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